Asking for One More Chance
by Haruka Tenou Distant Sky King
Summary: - In which Patrick has a dream, finds irony in the cohesion between his work and his sins, and plans to secretly ambush one of his best friends. - Filling in the gap between the last two scenes of chapter three of A Fine Line Between Love and Hate.


**Another "in story" one-short for A Fine Line. This one, however, and the next, will be taking place during the empty gap of "months" mentioned in the end of chapter three. And, as my muse seems to like writing him/being his voice in my head, another Patrick-centric one-shot for you all! XD**

**Disclaimer: The movie/book_ Angels and Demons_, and the anime/manga_ Sailor Moon _are the property of their respective artists. I ain't making a dime off of anything I write here; I'm just having fun doing what I love - writing.**_  
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**Oh, and one more thing. Patrick's Papal Title? Not mine either. XD That belongs to the author Moonstone Glows.  
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_The sun was warm and the breeze was cool; the sky was cloudless and the grass was green; it was exactly what a summer day in Italy should have been. Three children – two nine and one eleven by the look of them – ran about the meadow. Two were blonde; one was brunette. Two appeared to be boys; in truth two were girls. They had become fast friends, and though the boy of their group, with his curly brown-gold hair and eager smile, wasn't quite as sporty as the two girls, they all got along famously. The three appeared to be playing tag, and having the grandest time. Though all three were Italian by some measure of blood, their words were accented differently._

"_Hey, c'mon you two! Just because I'm older doesn't mean I'm automatically faster!" The taller blonde laughed as she ran, her words tinged slightly by her Japanese accent, which in and of itself had a touch of an English accent as well. She was tall for her age, with short-cropped blonde hair and emerald green eyes. She wore ratty jeans, an over-sized t-shirt, and tatty converses of indeterminable color. Her hair was cut just as raggedly as her clothes were worn, giving the impression that she had chopped it off herself at some point, and she was the only one who cared to keep it short._

"_That's_ so not fare_, Mara!" The shorter blonde complained, as she ran after her taller counterpart. "You're taller, so you have longer legs! And besides that – agh!" Her words were cut off by her squeal of both horror and delighted laughter. Her nationality stated itself as the most Italian, though a touch of Spanish was in her voice as well. Her delighted shriek had originated from the fact that she was tackled by the final member of the group. Rolling away, she brushed shoulder-length, nearly white-blonde hair from her face, blinking her ice-blue eyes innocently at her assailant, the skirt of her white daisy-printed sundress askew about her leggings and white sandals. "And besides," she finished, smiling and blushing, "there's only one 'it' in tag. Right, Patrick?"_

_The third and final member of the group, Patrick, quickly rolled back to his feet, smiling down at her. His stormy grey/steel blue eyes smiled right along with him, as he hurriedly dusted off his khaki shorts and dark green polo shirt. "Quite right, Lyn," he said, a smirk that looked more at home on Mara's lips quirking his own. (In truth, the girl in question's proper name was Amara.) "There is only one 'it'… which is why I'm not sorry about my not helping you up!" And he ran off after Amara. Lyn, smiling ruefully, stood swiftly, and then raced after her friends._

"_I'm_ so _going to catch both of you this time!" Lyn – Evelyn – called out joyously, as she dashed after the other two._

"_I'd like to see you try!" Amara and Patrick called the gently-teasing taunt at the same moment, their different-aged-and-separated-at-birth-twin telepathy coming into play. This set all three laughing once more. If one listened, one would have picked up on Patrick's Scottish Gaelic accent, which was slightly stronger than those of either girl._

"_Oh, I will! Don't worry too much about _that_!"_

_Their laughter and shouts of joy colored the warm air of the summer afternoon._

Grey eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the pale light of dawn. He breathed cautiously for a few moments, and then chided himself for such. Though it had been a week since he his ribs had been declared fully healed, the five months between had trained him well to be wary of breathing too hard too fast. That thought froze him for a moment, before he made himself get up and begin his day. First, he needed a shower. As he removed his sleeping robes and folded them, he couldn't help but muse on the dream he had had, and supposed that that was _because_ it had been five months already. Five months in which he hadn't heard at all from either Amara or Michelle, and had received only occasional calls from Evelyn when her games permitted.

But, really, it wasn't hard to figure out. His heart longed for simpler times, and his subconscious responded to this, having him dream a memory. He finished his shower quickly, still pointedly avoiding looking at the scar the brand had left on his chest, and then dressed in his white cassock and robes. This morning, after that dream, the gold cross seemed to be a bit heavier than normal, but he brushed it off. He had a day to prepare for, not to mention Latin High Mass to be ready for later that day. His breakfast was simple fare, and consumed quickly enough (but not quickly enough to make him sick; he'd made that mistake enough times in high school to know that he would be in pain all the rest of the day if he ate too fast), after which he withdrew to his prayer room.

Patrick – or Michael I as he was now officially known – remained there for one hour, praying for guidance in the day ahead of him, and for forgiveness if the sins he knew only God could ever forgive. He also prayed for the strength to carry those sins. Once the hour had elapsed, he emerged into his office, noting that his secretary had already dropped off the day's paperwork. With a soft sigh that was equal parts resignation and contentment – he still felt as if he were being pulled in all different directions at times, but he did at times also enjoy what he did – he seated himself behind the desk, and began his work. For the moment, he put thoughts of his childhood, and of his two best friends (if he still had the right to call them that, of course, given what he had done, and given that they had both been much more than mere friends to him, at different times of their lives), out of his mind.

He had a world of Catholics to lead, and found it ironic that the document atop the pile on his desk concerned a trip he would be making in the next two months or so to Spain. It seemed even his work wanted to remind him of what he was so completely sure he had lost. The catch here was that he would be making a small, personal trip to the Canary Islands, right after his official papal visit to Spain.

Depending on what kind of reception he received, he knew he would be asking – _begging_ – for one more chance; he knew he didn't deserve it by any means, but he had to try all the same.


End file.
